<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>i'm begging for you to take my hand by twilightstargazer</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870782">i'm begging for you to take my hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer'>twilightstargazer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, F/M, Infidelity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:40:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28870782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Her mouth goes dry. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m getting undressed,” he says, glancing back at her. There’s a wicked gleam in his eye. “This is how they do it in art school, no? Nude models and all that?”</p><p>“Yes, but you don’t have to--”</p><p>“And where’s the fun in that princess?” he asks as he pulls off his undershirt.</p><p>-<br/>or, a titanic au where clarke is rose and bellamy is jack and nobody dies</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>183</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i'm begging for you to take my hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/wapbellamy/gifts">wapbellamy</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy (belated) birthday em. this was supposed to be a pwp. evidently it is not that which is a feat considering i have never seen the movie titanic. unedited.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There isn’t much to do on the ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or rather, there isn’t much of anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do on the ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke has never been a fan of shuffleboard or card games, listening to music got boring after a while and god knows that reading while on board the ship was just asking to experience a bout of motion sickness unparalleled to no other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that’s how she finds herself here, wandering through the bowels of the ship on her own, nothing but the faded din of the crowds almost completely masked by the hum of the inner workings of the ship. It’s nice, more of a comfort than being up with her fiancé at the card table anyway. She told him that she was going for a walk and he had just waved her off, too preoccupied with his game. Which is fine by her of course. The less time spent with him the better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably not the best way to be thinking about one’s fiancé but she doesn’t care. The man’s a bore at best and a straight up contumelious dullard at worst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The machinery hum reminds her of when she was a little girl trailing behind her father in his workshop. He was an engineer and used to love to bring some of his work home for Clarke to see, all whirring gears and moving parts, excitedly explaining the necessity behind each one to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trails a hand along one of the metal pipes, wistful in her remembrance and sighs to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you’re supposed to be down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice echoes down the hall and she jumps, a small shriek escaping past her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A man stands at the end of the corridor, all tanned skin and messy hair. At first she thought he was one of the workers on the ship and an excuse was ready on the tip of her tongue as to why she was wandering around the out of bounds area. But then she gets a closer look at him, the lack of uniform and cavalier air about him, and she realises that he’s just another passenger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hitches a brow. “Maybe. But then that means you’re not supposed to be here either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins at her. “What can I say, I like to break the rules a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that’s very good,” she says, “Rules are there for a reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, c’mon princess, what’s wrong with bending the rules every now and then?” he shrugs goodnaturedly and she finds herself biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well when you put it like that.” She finally gets to the end of the hall where he’s standing and extends her hand towards him. “My name’s Clarke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes hers in his and she’s suddenly made aware at how much bigger his hand is when compared to hers. It’s warm and calloused and she tries her best to fight back a blush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drops it just as fast as he shakes it. “Bellamy Blake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you Bellamy Blake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too Miss Clarke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I guess I’ll be on my way then,” she says, trying her best not to fidget. “I’ll let you get back to your… rule breaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips twitch at her poor attempt at a joke and she feels a zing of interest shoot through her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s very kind of you,” he replies and then he steps out of her way, leaning forward in a mocking bow. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart thunders against her sternum as she sidesteps him, hustling back up to the top decks where guests are </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be. Clarke does her best to put the chance meeting with the intriguing stranger out of her head but it lingers, just there on the edge of her periphery like bad perfume.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few days later and Clarke can definitively say that she absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> this ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hates having to spend more time than necessary with Finn, hates the fact that he doesn’t seem to care about her at all, not as a person or his soon to be wife or as the probable mother of his children. She hates how activities on the ship are sectioned off based on ticket rank, first class patrons not allowed to mingle with third class ones. She hates the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sun</span>
  </em>
  <span>, constant and never-ending, making her nose peel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s how she finds herself here, on the stern, looking over the edge of the ship at the water rushing past them below. The waves are dark blue and capped with seafoam and Clarke wonders, not for the first time, what it would be like to jump into its embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s been dunked under water before, mostly when she was a child and playing with her family and friends. There’s a sort of serenity associated with it, tranquility and calmness as there’s nothing but the coolness of it against your skin and muffled sounds where there was once loudness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke stares at it, lingering longer than she had planned. It would be so easy to just lean over and let herself become one with the waves. Easy to leave Finn and her overbearing mother and everything else this miserable life has to offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey princess, you taking a walk around the boat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the second time on this trip she startles at the sound of the same voice. She whirls around to see Bellamy standing a few paces behind her, hands shoved in his pockets. His look of concern is just barely masked by a cocky smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just looking. At the water,” she stammers out, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumps up on the bar next to her, bracing his forearms against the banister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Below them the ocean churns on, the soft crashing of waves against the side of the ship as it slices through it with ease drifting up to greet them. A gust of cool air blows the hair from her face, tangling the tendrils around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever felt it before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She cuts a sharp glance towards him and finds that he was still staring at the water down below. “Felt what? The ocean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips tip up at the corners slightly. “Not the ocean. Drowning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke sucks in a breath. “No,” she answers softly, “Have you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. “Once. It was a few winters ago. I was teaching my sister how to skate on the creek by our house. The ice was thin and I ended up falling through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It felt like a thousand knives were stabbing me all over, all at once. Like my lungs were on fire. The cold makes everything ten times worse.” He finally looks back over at her, a solemn expression resting upon his face. “If you jump it’ll probably be even worse than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I jump,” she says, her voice wavering only slightly, “Then it will be none of your concern.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time his mouth stretches into an almost grim sort of half smile. “‘Course it’ll be. You jump, I jump right in after you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets a snort out of her. “Fancy yourself some kind of hero, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives her a one shouldered shrug. “Nah. Chivalrous though. Can’t let the princess sink to her demise. Gotta be the knight in shining armour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke finally cracks a smile, laughing almost at his statement. “I’m no princess,” she tells him, finally stepping off the bar and back onto the deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy jumps off, following suit. “And I’m no knight,” he counters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I could have told you that,” she teases, gripping her forearms for want of something to do with her hands. “You’re far too chaotic to be an actual knight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with a little chaos?” he asks, a tinge of indignity colouring his tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ducks her head, grinning just a bit. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Clarke clears her throat and looks back up at him. “I have to go meet my fiancé for lunch soon,” she tells him, cringing internally at having to bring up the topic of Finn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Bellamy is bothered by the revelation that she’s betrothed to someone else, he doesn’t show it. Instead he just nods and fixes her with another one of his boyish smiles. She absolutely hates the way her heart flips in her chest at the sight of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try to stay away from the sides of the ship,” he says, aiming for a dry, humourless tone but it comes away dipped in concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pretty flush rises to her cheeks. “I’ll do my best,” she tells him before dipping her chin in acknowledgement. “Mr Blake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returns the gesture. “Ms Griffin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke immediately sets off for the first class dining quarters where Finn is waiting for her in the lobby. He grumbles about her tardiness under his breath as he secures them a table but she pays him no heed, not when her mind is occupied with the thoughts of freckles and chin dimples and skin so bronzed that it gleamed in the sunlight.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke sees Bellamy almost everyday for the next week and it’s the first time in a while she experiences the giddy joy that is reminiscent of a schoolgirl with her first crush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes her laugh she realises, always a surprised outburst or an inappropriate and unladylike snort. He cares about her thoughts on matters, whether it’s petty grievances or worldly politics, and is always ready to go toe to toe with her in a friendly debate. He’s charming and charismatic even though he hides it under a grumpy exterior and the more time she spends with him, the less guilty she feels about betraying Finn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that it matters anyway; Clarke is well aware of Finn’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>extracurriculars</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To throw a fit over her talking to another man would be hypocritical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Clarke doesn’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk to Bellamy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were stalking me,” she giggles when she catches him peeping over her shoulder at one of her drawings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m admiring the art,” he shoots back at her. “You’re really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke bites her lip. “You think so?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn always regards her drawings as her ‘silly little hobby’ but Bellamy seems earnest in his remarks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he says, nodding, looking at her as she adds the last few details. “It’s great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she says, blushing a little. Carefully, she tears the page out of her sketchpad and hands it to him. “Here. You can keep it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A Clarke Griffin original, wow,” he says as he gingerly tucks it into the pocket of his coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Only the best for my stalkers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hitches a brow. “I think you’re the one stalking me, princess,” he smirks before sinking into the lounge chair next to her. “I’m always here first. You show up later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it’s because I actually enjoy your company,” she says lightly, trying her best not to blush as he angles his body to hers. “Goodness knows why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s a shock to me too,” he deadpans. “But hey, if you want to enjoy my company a little longer, word around the boat is that there’ll be a party later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face visibly brightens. “A party? Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just for us street rats down in third class,” he jokes. “If you can get away from that fiancé of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke doesn’t mean to grimace at the thought of her soon to be husband, it’s just something that her face does when she remembers that he exists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy laughs at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t be a problem,” she sniffs, thinking about how Finn likes to go to those live shows after dinner, the way he’s a bit too interested in a certain opera singer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. Meet in the main lobby after dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great,” he grins at her. “It’s a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart flips over itself at his words and it takes all her willpower to not sit there and look at him like some sort of lovesick puppy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She and Bellamy chat there for a while longer before he excuses himself to join one of his friends in a game of </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She thinks it’s shuffleboard but she’s never seen it played like that, almost as if the rules were being made up on the fly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke walks around with her head in the clouds for the rest of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner can’t come fast enough and yet, when it’s finally time to get ready, she finds the nerves settling in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like-- She knows that Bellamy doesn’t care what she wears, but she still wants to look good for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ends up in her second best evening gown-- the first one was far too gaudy-- with rouge stained on her cheeks and a swipe of lipstick across her lips. Clarke wears the heavy diamond and sapphire set, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nightblood</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thinks is the name of it, that Finn gave her when they first announced their engagement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look lovely,” her fiancé says absentmindedly when she’s finally ready for dinner. He’s paying more attention to his model boat than to her which is just as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spends dinner faking smiles and feigning laughter with the other women while their husbands talk business and politics. Clarke does what Finn always asks her to and stays quiet unless asked a question about what she thinks of the tablecloth and oh, have you all thought about when you’re going to have the wedding?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the fifteen minutes her cheeks are aching from keeping up the façade but Clarke grits her teeth and pushes through, acting as if she isn’t keeping an eye on the clock the entire time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s because of her </span>
  <em>
    <span>plans</span>
  </em>
  <span> afterwards, but this dinner starts to feel more like pulling teeth as time drags on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, when the dessert plates are cleared, they all stand up and she hits her knee against the table in her haste. She just manages to bite back a hiss and takes Finn’s arm with a polite smile as their group moves to leave the dining, making plans for how they intend on spending the rest of the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke waits until they walk out before she feigns a rather dramatic yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m feeling a bit tired,” she tells him, “I think I might head back to the room and turn in early for the night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn frowns. “Are you sure? We were about to go take in a show.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pastes a gentle smile on her face in an effort to placate him. “It’s alright. You go on ahead without me. I rather go to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you’re sure…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very much so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then,” he agrees, giving her hand a brief squeeze before pulling away entirely, “I’ll see you later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke says her goodbyes and goodnights and heads off. Finn doesn’t offer to walk her back to the room so instead of veering left to head back to the first class suites, she goes right, taking the stairs towards the main lobby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It offers very little in terms of anonymity, but she still finds herself pulling her shawl over her head as she hurries off to her destination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy is already there when she arrives, slightly out of breath. He is leaning against a pillar, looking completely at ease, and she feels the butterflies settle in her stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” she says as she crosses over to meet him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives her a cursory up-down, taking in her dress and the jewellery. “Hello. Had a nice evening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It could be nicer,” she says, coy, and he grins at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he starts, offering her an arm, “Why don’t we go and figure out just how we might be able to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grins back at him and then they’re off, heading down below to the third class deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s much more cramped than first class, the hallways narrower and rooms smaller, but the party planners seemed to take all of that into consideration, crowds spilling through several open doors into rooms and people lining the corridors as they chatted and drank and laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was unlike any party Clarke has been to, a complete bacchanalia compared to the dreary get-togethers she’s forced to attend with Finn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s almost immediately signalled out as other-- her shoes too shiny and new, dress made out of the finest silks, ostentatious jewellery glinting at them in the light-- but no one dares to say anything, not when her hand is in Bellamy’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He introduces her to people too, some of them he even goes as far as calling </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She meets Miller and Murphy and Harper and many others, the long list of names sending her into a headspin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easy to lose track of time talking to strangers like that. Jasper-- she thinks that’s his name-- manages to sneak a bottle of champagne from the kitchen and he brings it over to share. They don’t have glasses so they take turns pouring it into each other’s mouths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy’s eyes are dark as he pours it for her, watching as she tilts her head back and takes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blush blooms prettily on the high points of her cheeks and something else, something warmer, blooms in the pit of her stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the champagne is finished they switch to something a bit harder. Moonshine she thinks it's called, and Monty proudly proclaims that he brewed the contraband alcohol by himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first sip strips her throat raw and she’s left gasping as her eyes water. Bellamy grins next to her and presses his forehead to her temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having fun yet, princess?” he asks, his voice deliciously dark and gravelly in a way that makes her shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plenty,” she replies, turning her head ever so slightly to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he’s so pretty. Her fingers itch to draw him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend another hour or so like that, passing around a bottle and swapping stories. Clarke doesn’t have much stories to tell, not any good ones at least, so she sits pressed against Bellamy’s side with his arm around her shoulders and drinks and listens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s delightfully tipsy by the time they decide to move on to card games and she finds herself draped across his lap, pressing her face into his chest as she giggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we’re going to call it a night,” she hears him say, helping her stand up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a cacophony of catcalls and wolf whistles from their little group, all of which they ignore. Bellamy leads her off with a hand on the small of her back to his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like the others, his room is small, just a narrow bed, a desk and chair, bureau and a small attached bathroom that he shares with the neighbouring room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke kicks off her shoes and slumps against the bed head while he disappears for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s back before she knows it, holding a glass of water out towards her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” he says, gently pressing it into her palm, “Drink this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she says, but takes it regardless. She is feeling quite thirsty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you are,” he says wryly. “Have you ever drank before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Wine mostly, champagne here and there. Always one glass though. Tonight she had several. “Just not quite this much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A snort. “I figured.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit in silence while she sips her water, Bellamy’s eyes on her the entire time. When she finally finishes it, he takes it from her to refill again but this time he places it on the bedside table instead of forcing her to drink it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hums in agreement, eyes wandering about his room like the nosy person that she is. It’s pretty empty save for his scant suitcase and a handful of books. On his desk a slip of paper and when she squints she realises that it’s the drawing she gave him earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that he kept it and carefully smoothed out the creases before laying it on his desk makes her heart squeeze in her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to draw you,” she blurts out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy lifts a brow. Clarke’s cheeks go red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you have interesting facial features,” she stammers, cringing at her words. “I think you’d make a nice subject.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clarke Griffin, is this your way of telling me that you think I’m handsome?” he teases and her blush darkens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Maybe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continues to smirk and she pulls a face. “I think it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” she mutters. “Can I draw you or not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” he nods before unbuttoning his vest. He shrugs it off and tosses it to the side before working at his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mouth goes dry. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting undressed,” he says, glancing back at her. There’s a wicked gleam in his eye. “This is how they do it in art school, no? Nude models and all that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but you don’t have to--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And where’s the fun in that princess?” he asks as he pulls off his undershirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercifully, he leaves his trousers on and lounges back on the bed, an arm thrown over his head as he watches her. His eyes are dark again, filled with heat and longing and want and Clarke is certain that hers mimics his gaze. The warmth in her belly has spread across her body, to her limbs, her chest, and lower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tries to keep her eyes trained on his face but she can’t help but let them stray elsewhere, taking in the bulge of his biceps, the ridges of his abs, the way his pectoralis curves in the lowlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really is gorgeous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke finishes her sketch in record time, signing and dating it at the bottom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done,” she says, her voice wavering a little as she tries her best not to shift against the heel she has tucked beneath her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hands him the piece of paper and lets him survey it. They’re both silent for a moment and then he looks up at her grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amazing,” he tells her and she glows under the praise. “Do I get a turn now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A turn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To draw you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her entire body goes up in flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t peg you as an artist type,” she says measured while her heart pounds in her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have layers,” he shoots back before grabbing a clean sheet of paper. “What do you say princess? You gonna let me draw you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke bites her lip, considering it for a second before nodding. Fuck it, she has nothing left to lose. “Alright fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands shake as she struggles to undo the tiny row of buttons holding her dress together, taking twice as long as she usually does to get them open under Bellamy’s gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s left in her stockings and slip, and desire is plain as day on his face as he surveys her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?” she asks, voice raw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost.” He leans over and she’s hit with the smell of him, sea breeze and cologne and </span>
  <em>
    <span>boy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His hands probe her hair, plucking out the pins holding it up in her updo, and then with one final tug he sends it tumbling down her shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoulders that his hands now rest on, fingers toying with the flimsy straps of her slip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to draw you like one of those french girls,” he murmurs. She immediately recalls the beaches that she visited her Finn yesterday, how the women were more than happy to sunbathe topless, how her fiancé couldn’t take his eyes off of them and how she adamantly kept all of her clothes on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy slowly tugs down the left strap, his eyes on hers the entire time, searching for some kind of protest. When he finds none, he pulls down the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her nipples peak almost immediately on contact with the cold air of the room and her eyes dart toward his face to catalogue his reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps it almost annoyingly blank as he drinks her in, but she does notice the slight jump of the muscle in his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t even touched her yet, not in a way that truly counts, and Clarke already feels slick between the legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gorgeous,” he says roughly before pulling back to grab a pencil. “Lie down princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does as she’s told, the silk of her slip pooling at her waist and her breaths quickening as he looks back at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It could have been hours or minutes or even days that she stayed like that, holding position for him as he sketches away. Clarke isn’t sure how much time has elapsed but she does know that she’s so painfully turned on in this moment that it’s almost embarrassing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s done he hands it over to her wordlessly and Clarke has to admit that he’s not half bad. If it was some other time she would tease him about being a jack of all trades, maybe even offer some critique, but now she barely pays any attention to it, setting it on the bedside table and immediately surging forwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips crash onto hers, hands dropping to her waist and Clarke finds herself straddling his lap before she realises it. Her arms wrap around his neck and he cradles her face as they deepen it, his tongue slipping into her mouth for her to nip at. The kiss is everything she’d hoped for and more, hot and rough and borderline desperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy grabs her hair and she moans for him, rocking down against his length and feeling frissons run up her spine when her nipples rub against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is better than anything I could have thought of,” he murmurs against her jaw as he begins kissing his way down her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thought about this?” she breaths, tightening her hold on his curls, pulling on them when his teeth flash against that sensitive spot on her skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches her breasts now and takes one into his mouth without preamble, sucking and biting and she keens out loud. “I’ve been thinking about this since the first time I saw you,” he pants, switching over to the other side to show its twin the same amount of love. “Fuck Clarke, you’re amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s so sensitive, so pent up, that she swears she might be able to come from just this, his mouth and hands plucking at her tits. “God,” she groans, pulling him back up so she can kiss him. “You’re so--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect? Incredible? Best sex of your life?” he interjects while tugging off her slip entirely and leaving her in just her stockings and underwear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Humble,” she snorts, and he palms her breast meanly. “And I haven’t had sex with you yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His pupils are blown out when he pulls back to look at her, a dull flush barely visible underneath his freckles. His lips are kiss bitten and bruised and a thrill goes through her when she realises that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one responsible for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well let’s change that then, shall we?” he murmurs gruffly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another thrill goes through her, bright and hot, and she nods, barely sparing a thought for her fiancé or the consequences this might spawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Clarke cares about it right now, this moment here with Bellamy and nothing else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They quickly shed the rest of their clothes-- she grapples with his belt while her yanks off her stockings and panties in one fluid motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers stroke her gently, lightly teasing her folds before he slowly pushes one in, his forehead pressed to hers the whole time. “You’re so wet,” he breathes, giving her a few experimental thrusts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke doesn’t have a snappy comeback to that and all she can do is pull him closer, needing to feel him everywhere at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he deems her ready he slips another one in, stretching her wider. She’s not a blushing virgin by any means. She’s slept with Finn before and before that she got used to hands and mouths from first Niylah and then Lexa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Bellamy blows them all out of the water by far. It’s honestly no competition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know if it’s because he’s skilled or because he has a good read on her body, but he seems to know exactly what to do to get her going. A twist of his fingers makes her spasm, a rub of his thumb on her clit makes her moan, the dirty filthy words dropping from his lips make her shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expertly fucks her with his fingers, thumb unrelentless against her clit and it honestly doesn’t take that long for her to come. His name drips from her tongue in broken syllables as she clenches around his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look so good when you come,” he tells her, nuzzling her cheek. “Sound good too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally Clarke would be sated after an orgasm like that, but tonight it just seems to stoke the fire between them higher. He’s still hard against her thigh and she drops a hand between them to grasp him. At her touch he swears, burying his face between her breasts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that that wasn’t good because it definitely was,” she says once she’s able to breathe again, “But I think now it’s time for you to fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods and she can feel his shaky exhale when she runs her thumb over the tip. “Yeah. I think so too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy pushes her back down so that her back is flat on the bed and then his body covers hers. Her knees splay wide to accommodate his hips and he braces his forearms next to her head. They pause for just a second and he looks down at her. Gone is the heat and the lust and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything else</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and all that’s left is a soft tender look that has her chest aching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushes the hair from her face and Clarke feels incredibly breakable in that moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bellamy…” she murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offers her that heartbreaking smile. “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses her again, wet and messy, and she kisses him back, just as eager as he finally thrusts in, pushing as far as he can go until she gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It stings a little and they keep the first few thrusts slow as she gets used to his size. Only when she hitches a leg around his waist, grasps at him with a strangled ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bell</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ does he speed up, fucking into her in earnest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got you, princess,” he says, speeding up. “I got you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head drops so that their foreheads are pressed together, strangely intimate, and she forces herself to keep her eyes open, to look up at him through it all. Her entire body feels like a livewire, tapped into his and glowing in the dark possibly lighting up the entire ocean. Clarke can’t tell where she ends and he begins, the two of them so tangled up in each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know how long it lasts, who breaks first or who loses themselves quicker. All she knows is that she catches the hand of that dizzying high and rides it all the up to that edge until she falls off the precipice, letting it roll through her, more poignant than a shockwave or rough seas or those two combined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy is right there behind her when she comes, chanting her name softly in her ear, a series of little </span>
  <em>
    <span>ClarkeClarkeClarke</span>
  </em>
  <span>s as his hips stutter into hers, his entire body shaking with the force of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay like that for a moment, his body still pressed into hers, laying on top of her as they pant and struggle to catch their breaths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, as their heart rates come down, he rolls off of her. Bellamy doesn’t go far though, laying next to her on the bed, so close that their sides are pressed together and Clarke shifts, fitting herself in the space under his arm, a knee pressed into his hip bone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish we could stay like this forever,” she sighs, drawing absentminded patterns on his bare chest. Her other hand ends up in his, fingers tangled together and she can’t help but stare, noting the contrasts. His hand is large, hers is small. His skin is dark and hers his pale. His palms are calloused from hard work, hers have never seen hardship in their life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who says we can’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My fiancé,” she says with a wry smile and Bellamy rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. “I should get back before Finn wonders where I’ve gone,” she says, but makes no move to do so. In fact, she almost seems to cuddle closer to him, nuzzling her face into his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t seem rather distraught at the thought,” he hedges and she sighs wearily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s cheating on me,” she says, blunt. She keeps her eyes focused on their clasped hands to avoid looking at him, unable to stand the pity that would no doubt be evident in his eyes. “With one of his coworkers. Every time I see them together I feel sick. Like the third wheel in my own relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifts and she can feel him looking over at her. “And the engagement? Why don’t you end things?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that simple,” she sighs, feeling her cheeks heat in embarrassment for the first time all evening. “My father passed away a few months ago and the money he left behind won’t last for long. This marriage with Finn… it’s advantageous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hates the way her tongue curls around the word and the masochistic part of herself forces her to glance up at Bellamy, to shy away from the judgement and scorn that is no doubt there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s not. What she finds instead is understanding and all the tension that she held in her body leaks out immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re trying to do what’s best for your family,” he tells her softly, “It’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I didn’t have to do any of this and I could just be selfish for once,” she confesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes silent for a moment and Clarke watches him as the thoughts flicker over his face going a thousand times per second and then--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me,” he says in a sudden, desperate breath, sitting up and dragging her along with him. Clarke squeaks as she’s jostled but she gathers her bearings quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs her other hand, clutching both of them in his as he looks at her imploringly though his fringe. “When we get to New York. Come with me. We can run away and start a new life. Together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke sucks in a breath. “What?” she says, her brain struggling to get through the shock of his announcement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellamy squeezes her hand. “You and me. Screw everyone else… let’s just go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A decline immediately springs to the tip of her tongue and yet, it never manages to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clarke allows herself to give it a thought. And another. And another. And then she </span>
  <em>
    <span>sees</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, her whole life as though she’s already lived it, the future that they can both share.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small studio apartment rented in the city with the last bit of their money. He’ll find a job somewhere in one of the factories and she’ll get one at a nearby diner or restaurant and bring home leftovers each day for them to eat. She’ll continue art on the side too of course, and maybe if she’s lucky she’ll get featured in an exhibit and pull in potential buyers. Eventually when they have enough money they’ll buy a house and get a dog and a child or three--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s almost dizzying to think about and she finds her heartrate quickening at all the possibilities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gives him a shy, almost imperceptible kind of nod and Bellamy’s responding smile is brighter than the gleam of the ocean at sunset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smacks a kiss to the back of her hand and then another to her mouth, almost sloppy with the way that they’re both grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we’re doing this then? Together?” he asks, the words muffled against her mouth and she giggles swooping up and stealing another quick, messy kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later she’ll have to leave and reprise her role as a princess among those crowds, pretend to be the perfect little fiancé for Finn while secretly counting down the hours until she can run. But for now she sits here tangled in the sheets with Bellamy, eagerly plotting out their futures, mapping their dreams while on the ship of dreams itself, a fairytale, and it was one that Clarke couldn’t wait to begin.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>